


if i close my eyes i'll sleep for days

by Dillian



Series: We Have Sown the Wind, and We Reap the Whirlwind [2]
Category: Fantastic Four, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Diapers, Adult baby, Alcohol-Induced Diarrhea, Alcoholism, Bathing/Washing, Bottle-Feeding, Cleaning, Cock Rings, Coprophilia, Dark, Depression, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Loss, M/M, Non-Consensual Surveillance, Sex Toys, Shame, Soiling, Toilet training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If The Avengers thought Loki would forget what they did to him in the ruins of Stark Tower, they did not know the God of Chaos.  Loki's magic may be sealed, but his inventive brain is still free.  Also his persuasive tongue, as can be seen by his having persuaded the Lord of Latveria to an alliance.</p><p>The first part of Loki's revenge:  With much care and thought, he strips work, hope, finally dignity and sanity as well, from Tony Stark, Doom a willing, pleased participant, the entire way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The God of Lies is Pleased, for Once.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeful, after his treatment at The Avengers' hands, Loki makes alliance with another mortal, to engineer his revenge.

“sorry i'm late. i was out spoiling my liver. i couldn't wait... the sun was up for far too long today. and i can't see straight, but the two of you look awfully pretty. and i couldn't wait... been awake for far too long today. and is it strong enough to burn away the cooking wine? and i'm just tired enough, if i closed my eyes i'll sleep for days, i'll sleep for days... sorry i'm late. i was out spoiling my liver. i couldn't wait... the sun was up for far too long today. and i can't see straight, but the two of you look awfully pretty... you're fucking beautiful. and is it strong enough to burn away the cooking wine? and i'm just tired enough, if i close my eyes i'll sleep for days, i'll sleep for days... ”  
– Alkaline Trio

 

**_The Avengers_ , and _Thor_ , and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Incorporated. This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.**

 

The camera is a gift, one of many. -- Doom can be generous, when someone interests him, and Loki of Asgard interests him a great deal. -- The time he spends with Loki, viewing the, so far, rather uneventful footage: Another gift.

Loki is fine-drawn and pale, an El Greco painting given flesh, all except for his green eyes. No such anger ever burned in the eyes of any saint Spain produced. No face was ever so mobile, ideas chasing bitterness, chasing rage, and then more ideas chasing all else away. Loki occupies the second throne, the one Doom has had set in place for him. He does not ask to be touched. He does not press to find out more about what is underneath Doom's armor, about the pitted terrain that is his ruined face, or about what sensitivity might remain in his hands, scarred as they are, from building his first suit of armor. That is as it should be. He and Loki meet on a higher plane; their communion is that of the mind.

Onscreen, the penthouse is empty. It has been empty, almost without change, since surveillance started. Once, there were workmen. Another time, Stark himself showed up. -- “There,” Loki pointed toward the counter in the kitchen. “He will go there.” Vertiginous footage followed, as the decanter with the camera embedded was raised, tilted. Stark replaced it on the counter before nausea could begin. Then the fascinating sight of the lord of Avengers Tower, alone, drinking his Scotch. – Stark left again soon after, and he has not been back.

Brief touch of Loki's hand on his own arm. “The papers were signed today?”

Doom nods. “The woman understands business. She made no trouble. – The letter was delivered too, Loki. I saw the photograph of him taking it.”

A smile like electricity crackling, and a quick glance Doom's way. “The footage should be more interesting today, then.”

Loki takes pleasure in manipulating the devices of day-to-day technology. The television, its remote control, the Doom-bots that see to both their comfort: It seems to amuse him to control them, as though they substitute for his own powers, now sealed away. The remote control sits, now, always on the arm of his throne. He picks it up, slim white hand with the bitten, black-painted nails, lifting, pressing the Power button.

The television flares to life, already set to view the penthouse. Voices from offscreen: “JARVIS, hold all my calls.”

“Already done, sir.”

“Tony... – Lunch? We were thinking of The Habit...”

“Not hungry. Maybe later.” Stark appears onscreen; he is pale, unshaven. “What is there that needs working on, JARVIS?”

“The workroom in Malibu, sir? You were finishing the Arc Reactor Mark XII?”

“Pep's at the house. – I think she's at the house. She said she was going back there. – Her name's on the goddamn deed. She can go there any time she the fuck wants to.”

Kitchen cabinet opens. A glass is set onscreen, in front of the camera. Then the vertiginous tilt that is Stark, pouring. A gulp, a second. Then he pours again.

Loki watches greedily; he is as a thirsty man, given water. He glances toward Doom. “Where is she?”

“The woman?” Doom shrugs. “Perhaps she is at the Malibu house.”

Irritation: “You don't have her?”

“There are mistakes, and then there are stupid mistakes. AIM is in receivership, because Killian took the woman prisoner. There are some things Stark will not stand, and Doom has made it his business to know them.”

Soft laugh of the Trickster's amusement. “Always bragging.”

The camera's position has moved. The decanter sits, now, on the table, next to the sofa in the living room. -- Ugly, the emotion that marred the Trickster's face, when they watched the old sofa being removed. Stained green from damp in places, splotched brown all across the back: There were memories there. Loki has not disclosed the content of them, but Doom has been able to find out some through other sources. He cannot say he was surprised. The punishment was logical, for a brutal race like the Asgardians. That “Earth's mightiest heroes” (so-called) should participate was slightly less expected. Pleasing though, to see Doom's foes acting naturally for a change.

Tilt of the camera angle, a small click of glass meeting glass as Stark pours again. Noise comes from the television: “Grenade on it's way. – Nade goin' in. ...Frag out... We lost A. We lost Alpha. Enemy took A...” The controller is in Stark's hands, and the noise of battle is continuous, but for only a few minutes. Then with a clatter, he throws it onto the table, and then he is pouring again.

The voice of the AI: “Perhaps a movie, sir?”

“Don't want a fuckin' movie.” Stark drinks, pours some more. “What is there I can do around here? Seriously JARVIS, I'm not picky. Something that needs fixing? A goddamn lightbulb I can replace?”

“Mr. Rogers has proven to be a quite capable handyman, sir. – You could go with to lunch with your friends. I am sure they have not been seated yet. Habit Manhattan West is busy this time of day.”

“No goddamn lunch.” The screen tilts wildly, as Stark, about to pour again, gestures with the hand holding the decanter. “I just came from L.A., JARVIS. – El fuckin' Ay, is your World Clock not working? I mean, has it gotten turned off or something? – It's ten in the fuckin' morning there, I'm not fuckin' hungry.”

“Very good, sir.”

Beside Doom, Loki radiates, pleasure; it glows from him like the warm light of home, half-seen through drawn curtains. He even sits more comfortably, drawing a pleasured breath, settling into his throne as if it has grown a cushion in the past moments. “It has begun,” he murmurs, as though to himself.

It pleases Doom to see him like this. There is only so long even a mind like Loki's, can continue generating ideas, without seeing any of them come to fruition. This first success will spur his creativity, and that will prove fruitful for both of them, over time. “The camera is next, isn't it?”

“The camera.” Loki nods. “The communication devices... – What do you call them, Victor?”

“The bluetooth.”

Another nod. “Yes, the _bluetooth_. You must show me how to wear it inconspicuously. Then you will tell me his whereabouts, and I will meet him. – You have the folder with your notes in it?”

The artificial construct, an image on a computer screen, that is also a device for storing data, and a “folder”: It amused his Asgardian guest when he first saw it. 

“The folder is started and labeled. Doom is ready.”

Loki glances at the screen, where Stark is pouring again. “Perhaps he will not go there today. How thorough was your research of his habits, Victor?”

It is doubt speaking, and doubt only. To be so close to revenge, and to see it withheld: Who does not understand the frustration? “He will go, provided he stays conscious long enough. The months he spent sober with the woman might have impaired his capacity. – What else is he going to do with his time, Loki? What else can he do? His workroom is gone. He destroyed his precious suits a year ago. Stark Enterprises holds the patent to the Arc Reactor, and Stark Enterprises, as of today, is a branch of Doom International. Only we are allowed to access its technology.”

Onscreen, Stark is standing. He looks ...somewhat wobbly. “JARVIS, I'm going out.”

“Very good, sir. Shall I contact Mr. Hogan and arrange transportation?”

“Don't call Happy, JARVIS. Don't fuckin' call Happy. – Or anybody else.”


	2. A Visit to Avengers Tower Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much alcohol does it take to make a man gullible... -- To make him, perhaps, gullible enough to believe that a victim would return to him of his own accord?

Is there a level of intoxication high enough to override a man's natural suspicion? Can one – Can anyone... – ever drink enough to forget hate and justified fear? Doom's initial suggestion was that they send Doom-bots. “We can take him while he's drunk,” he said. “There are suitable rooms here at the Embassy. The rest of the plan, can it not be done here?”

But Loki demurred. “Have you so little faith in my persuasive abilities, Victor?”

And as they watch the footage together afterward, Doom is glad that he trusted him.

The inside of an elevator: Stark's drunken mumblings are the soundtrack, his groping hands, now and then, a block to the camera. A ping sounds, as the door opens to disclose their destination.

“Stark Tower? Risky, Loki.”

“ _Avengers_ Tower.” Loki smiles, but there is a tension behind the smile. “If it hadn't been there, I don't know that I could have endured his filthy touch.”

He was just barely enduring it as it is. Trickster or no, his hesitation, his distaste, are clearly visible on-camera. Stark however, is much too drunk to notice.

“I will switch us to the other camera.” Loki gestures toward the screen, now obscured again, by the pink of Stark's palm. “You should see this without that slobbering maggot's hands in the way.” He presses a button, and the scene shifts. The decanter-camera is now in play.

“Loki...” Waving hand of the playboy. He seems scarce able to stand, without Loki's support. “I get it, I mean I get the whole turn-a-new-leaf thing. A guy can _change_. I mean, if I were the same untrustworthy guy I used to be... Which I'm not...”

Chuckle from the Liesmith at Doom's side. “This is where he gets tangled in his words. – The first time. Watch.”

Onscreen-Loki bends close, and his mouth finds Stark's, while offscreen-Loki shudders. “Uggh, there are things a man should not have to do.”

The sound onscreen is kisses, the sight is Loki, piloting his drunken victim toward the sofa. “Perhaps a drink?” He look directly at the decanter, and for a moment Stark is staring too, the camera in plain sight.

Then, “I dunno,” Stark mumbles. “Maybe... Had enough...”

“Too much of a good thing, they say,” onscreen-Loki coos, “can be very good indeed. Wait here, _Tony_.”

Doom looks at his offscreen-ally. “You didn't think he'd had enough to cooperate yet?”

A low, dangerous chuckle. “Poetic justice, Victor. He promised me a drink, once.”

The camera becomes uneven, as onscreen-Loki brings the decanter to the sofa. “It needs a stabilizer.” For a moment, Doom is distracted, thinking of the modifications that will be required, and the strategies that might get the modified camera into place. Then a soft laugh onscreen calls his attention back. 

Stark, bare to the waist now, leans away from the Trickster. His hair is tousled, his eyes drowsy with passion and alcohol. “You never struck me...” His mouth is changed too, swollen already, from kissing. “Y'never seemed like the most ... _forgiving_ guy... – Sorry.” He reverses himself at once. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Guy should know better ...look a gift horse in the mouth.” He snickers. “Only I'm not _looking in_ your mouth, am I?” He leans close again and, onscreen, Doom sees Loki smile.

In a nervous, quick movement, offscreen-Loki snatches up the remote. “This bit goes on too long.” He presses the button; Doom sees the figures onscreen move in a fast-forward.

The scene stabilizes again to show Stark bent over back of the sofa, his head down, face buried in the upholstery, while Loki holds him from behind. “Like this, Tony?” onscreen-Loki coos. “You're sure you want this?”

“Ohgodohgod, yes...” Mumbled words, just barely discernible through the sofa cushions. “Yes, Loki, just like that.”

“A condom?”

“Don't worry 'bout it. Suddenly single. Don't care.”

“Perhaps some _lube_ ”

“Lube... Wha?”

“No, don't worry,” onscreen-Loki forestalls the playboy's objections. “I'll get it.” Soft moan from Stark, as Loki lets go of him. He moves. Then it's his pale, bare chest blocking the camera, as Loki kneels in front of the table. “Do you still keep it in the drawer?”

“Loki, c'mon...” The babyish need in Stark's voice is indescribable. “M'waiting here.”

“Just a minute.” The rattle of the drawer opening, then closing again. Loki rises, and moves away from the camera. He returns to Stark. For a moment – Just a moment. – he is in profile. Doom sees the buttocks of him, high, well-defined. He sees his long, slim torso, and the hardness of his erection. This ally of his is the very pattern of male beauty, poised, for all his immortal lifespan, on the verge of adulthood. – “I want this to be _good_ for you,” he coos.

“Good... Oh, it'll be good.” Not much is visible of Stark himself. He is a tousled head, buried in the sofa cushions, a pair of shoulders well-muscled (no doubt, from the hours he used to spend with a welding-torch, back when he had access to his own technology), the long curve of a neck, and a voice, a needy, craving voice.

In spite of himself, Doom feels excitement. How long has he denied himself human contact? It is a lonely life, when there is no one one can trust, with whom to be this intimate. Once, he used to permit himself dalliance with the inhabitants of his homeland. A so-called “freedom fighter”, well-armed with explosives when she came to his bed, put paid to that. She died as she meant to die. His armor, fortunately still in place, sustained a scratch or two that were soon buffed out. That was long ago though, and in spite of himself, Doom is still human. The scene that Loki is showing, brings pleasure.

Loki, meanwhile, has fast-forwarded. “Here is where I go in.” Onscreen grunt, then a shout from Stark. Offscreen-Loki lifts the remote again. “Let me show you what happened afterward.”

“No.” Doom puts out his own hand and takes the remote control. “Let us watch it all the way through.”

Onscreen-Loki's face is distorted, savage. What is the need on that face? Is it revenge only that he craves, or has the desire for release taken him? His mouth turns up in a gritted-teeth smile. The bitten, black-painted nails of his hands are clearly visible against the pallor of Stark's hips. There is a dance to mating, the same whether mates productively, with a female, or for mere pleasure, with another male. The thrust, the pull-back, the other's response, greedy, growing more desperate, the nearer they are to satisfaction.

Doom points at the screen. He has to ask it. “Did Stark come too?”

A shrug from the Trickster. “As to that, I have no idea. The matter was not in my thoughts, Victor.”

The answer is there onscreen though, Doom thinks, as Stark throws back his head and shouts, his voice catching, then shouting again, a moment or two before Loki pulls away. He came... Doom throws a quick glance at the Trickster, offscreen, so cool and unmoved, and onscreen, so ...otherwise.

“You will be asking, what happened to The Avengers?” Offscreen-Loki interrupts Doom's thoughts. “Where, this whole time, were Banner, and the gallant Captain?” He smiles, the look pure, wiched enjoyment. “To tell the truth, I am not really sure. Mayhaps we were done, before they finished lunching. The floors of the tower are sound-proofed though. Stark told me, before we left the bar.”

“So you could go there again?” Doom looks at him. It was not their plan that Loki return to the tower.

“So those two mortal dolts could have been there the entire time and never known what we were doing.” Bitterness, the faintest shred of it, colors the Trickster's voice. “Oh no, Victor, I will not go there again. – Not with Stark at any rate. – Our plan is our plan.”

Onscreen, the scene has changed. Still unclothed, Stark lies on the sofa. His head, improbably, is in Loki's lap. “SoLoki,” he slurs. “Nowthaty'rgood, when'm I gonna see you 'gain?”

Bend of the Trickster's head, his dark locks fall forward in another kiss. “Oh, whenever you like, Tony,” he says. “But not here. You'll understand I'm sure: This place has memories.”

“Suresuresure...” Stark is on the verge of sleep, from the sound. “Understand c'mpletely.” He looks at Loki, seems close to a thought. Then he struggles to sit up. “Where though?”

“Shh, baby.” Gently, ever so gently, onscreen-Loki pushes, pressing him back into his reclining position. A soft laugh. “Wherever you like, Tony. Perhaps a hotel?”

“Sure.” Stark adjusts his position, seems to be cuddling in closer against the Trickster. He puts his arms up, wraps them around Loki's naked waist. “Yeah...” There is a long and growing silence, followed by the sound of his snores.

Loki raises his hand, and clicks the television off.

Doom looks at him. “And so, that is it?”

“That is it. First the tower, next the 'hotel', so-called. – You do have the room readied for our next tryst, Victor?”


	3. A Second Meeting Proves Advantageous as Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The persuasive powers of the Trickster are unparalleled, but that is all that is going on here; it is persuasion, nothing more. -- Edit. I re-did this chapter, after I realized the story was going to turn all sweet and Frostiron-y on me if I wasn't careful.

Loki comes downstairs with something in his hand. A phone: He sets it on the table with a small click. 

“A Stark-phone.” Doom looks at it. “The cliched choice.”

Loki chuckles. “Perhaps that is why he was so eager to relinquish it. He is not too pleased with his erstwhile company at the moment.”

Doom picks it up, presses Unlock. The little screen remains black, dead. “Now it is a brick.”

“Our guest was _so grateful_ when I turned it off for him. It kept buzzing.” Another laugh. “He said it was _distracting_.” Loki looks at Doom. “Would you like to see him, Victor?”

Doom would not, especially. The odors of alcohol and sex have never been favorites, and Stark is not someone he cares to know so intimately. There is challenge in Loki's eyes though, challenge and a little too much _knowledge_ for his taste. He would not appear squeamish.

“Certainly.” Doom rises, then with Loki, ascends the stairs. 

Loki unlocks the door. “The separate entrance...” His voice lowers, as the door opens, and the sound of Stark's breathing becomes audible. “It would not have fooled a child. But of course our guest wanted to be fooled.”

Stark's tousled head, visible on the pillow, in the dimness of this simulacrum of a hotel room, Doom has provided. He is facedown, one arm outspread, the other clasping a second pillow. Loki gestures toward it. “That was me, before he went to sleep. I don't know why I bothered putting it there; I doubt he'll wake for hours, after all he drank.”

“It was the artist in you.” Doom is ready enough to be escorted out again. They can view the rest of this on the television downstairs. 

Loki's soft laugh. “You flatter me, Victor.” For a moment, just a moment, his hands are against Doom's mask. The touch pleases ...and irritates; his hands were too recently on Stark's body.

They return to their thrones, and Loki picks up the remote control. “You would like to see this, Victor?”

A nod. “We might as well.”

The screen flares into life. Stark sits on the bed with a bottle in his hand, his head bent. “Pests,” he slurs. “They fuckin' won't stop calling.”

Loki's murmur from offscreen: “Your friends care about you.”

“My friends?” Stark turns. – Loki must be in the bathroom, he has to turn so much. He is practically looking directly over his shoulder, and it doesn't seem to be a position he can manage well, after all the drinking. – “Since when have you c-cared... Didn't think you cared that much 'bout my friends, Reindeer Games.”

Watching, Doom comments, “There have been stupider men.”

Loki puts a hand – briefly – on his arm. “Shhh.” He points, as onscreen-Loki returns and picks up the phone.

“Let me deal with this.” The brief offer, followed by Stark's eager acquiescence.

“Yeah, that'd be great, thanks Lo...” The words stop as he sees the box in the Trickster's hand.

“Wha... Whassat?” He takes it, turns it. The label, visible briefly, leaves nothing to the imagination.

“A cock ring?” Doom looks at his ally.

“ _Trust_ , Victor.”

“I've heard you can die from these things.” Stark looks up. “You want me dead, Reindeer Games?”

“Would you care?” Loki sits beside him. He takes the box, opens it. A small device pops out, red and circular. Loki turns it in his hands. “So little, to hold so much. – You've heard what these things do for sex, haven't you?”

“...Best in your life.” Stark takes it. He looks down at his own pants. “Not supposed to put 'em on when you've got...” He looks up at Loki. “Hardon...”

“Are you hard?” Teasing voice of the Trickster. “Perhaps after?”

After what? Onscreen-Loki seems perfectly content, perfectly comfortable. Where is the tension that was visible the last time? 

A zip. He is undoing Stark's pants. Something springs out... – This means nothing to him, there is no reason why Doom should feel anything, no more than when he has watched others in similar situations. And yet, as the dark head moves closer, and he hears the sounds coming from Loki's mouth, he finds himself looking away.

Offscreen-Loki chuckles. “You're so protective.” He glances at the screen for a moment; when he looks back, his own face is a shade paler. Then he looks at Doom. “Never forget Victor, that I am Loki Silvertongue. I am the God of Lies, and any who trust me are fools. You are no fool, Victor. – Nonetheless...” One slim hand finds the remote control. The scene fast-forwards. – “We need not watch all of this.”

The images jump, blur by in a jumble. There is Loki's face for a moment, his lips reddened, swollen, and a small trickle of ...something, at the corner. There are his hands between Stark's legs, black-nailed fingers circling the small vulnerability that is the billionaire's penis. There is the ring in position... Uggh, the instant tumescence that results.

Stark's murmur, awe in it, and a little bit of tension. “Loki...”

“It releases like this.” There is a small click from the screen.

“No, don't release it. Not yet.”

Blessedly, Loki fast-forwards to the bit with the next insertion. The images blur by again. There is Stark on the bed with his legs up, his face barely visible past the Trickster's shoulder. That look on it, the raw, naked passion of it, is disgusting.

_How did you get hard for it?_ Doom wants to ask. He has read about the after-effects of rape. Diminution of passion is the mildest way to describe what normally happens. How far can anyone carry a lie... But he does not want to risk his ally's scorn. And after all, Asgardians are different.

Loki's buttocks are beautifully curved, his shoulders, well muscled, despite his leanness. Of his erect penis, no sight at this angle, merely the implication of it, that comes as he thrusts deep and Doom hears Stark cry out.

“Loki... L-Loki!”

“Loki?” Teasing, Trickster-voice, barely audible over the sounds of their coitus. “No more _Reindeer Games_ , Tony?”

“What?!?” Over the slick-slurp-slick of it, the voice a little uneven, as if timed along with the thrusts he is taking. “What, Loki? No ...No offense...”

A faint, bitter laugh from the throne next to his, draws Doom's attention from the screen. “No _offense_ ,” Loki murmurs. “He actually said it.”

“Fuck me, Loki... Harder, harder, h... Ohyesjustlikethat!”

Onscreen-Loki's breathing grows quicker, his thrusts more rapid. “Yes, Tony, oh yes...” The curve of his shoulder, as his hand goes in. Doom knows the _ring_ has been removed by the horrible shout Stark gives.

Offscreen-Loki: “That was when he came.”

A grunt, a moan from his onscreen self. That is when the Trickster comes too, of course. Such verisimilitude of the lies... – Just for a moment, Doom wonders what it must be like to live like this, to be so able submerge one's self so thoroughly in deception. Asgardians... How different are they? He can't help snatch a glance. The offscreen-Trickster's profile is as smooth, as calm as ever.

Then he turns, and there is ironic amusement there. “No _qualms_ , Victor?”

Normally, it is the scars, the mask is supposed to hide... But normally, Doom deals with beings of less penetration than this one. He stares back, and his metal face, at least, is blank. “I am glad you're on my side.” 

“For now.” With a click, Loki turns off the television. “I am on your side for now, Victor. – The Doom-bots...” He looks at him. “They have been activated? I know not what time he will wake.”

“They will perform as requested. A bottle of Scotch, delivered along with whatever else he orders from 'Room Service'. We don't want him asking questions in the morning.”

It is not all the want. Frankly, some of the details of Loki's plan are repugnant, even to a man as used to the gruesome details of human physiology as himself. But it is from those details, gruesome as they are, that the plan gets its effectiveness.


	4. The Unexpected Squeamishness of the Lord of Latveria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doom knew that his ally _planned_ to do this. He finds however as it is happening, that a part of him still hoped it would not.

The next bit: Distasteful in the extreme. Doom knew it was coming. – He knew Loki meant for it to come, but perhaps he allowed himself to pretend the demi-god would find it impossible. Stark's physiology would not cooperate. Such things are random occurrences after all. A man can drink for years and have nothing like that ever happen to him. They can be precipitated; knowing the research his ally has put into his plan, Doom tells himself that he must have understood that this was a possibility. Perhaps he thought Loki would not dare go so far. _He_ would not go so far himself, into intimacy with an enemy, and he is not a squeamish man.

He watches alone, tonight. – He watches the video feed in real time; he is up at this late hour to see the events unfold as they happen. He could not say why. Gruesome curiosity? Perhaps simply so that he will not appear shocked when he watches it later, with Loki? 

It is the third night that Stark has spent here. The drugs, carefully administered, are of course, why he remains. Doom has never been one to interest himself much in his victims _acquiescence_ ; it is necessary though, however, if Loki's strategy is to work. Stark must believe he is here by choice. He must believe, fully and completely, that he takes each step of this willingly, and conspires voluntarily with his own degradation, otherwise the final blow that Loki has planned will be as nothing to him. Thus Doom's agreement to research the medications Loki will need. Thus his study of dosage, his verification of their _imperceptability_ when administered properly. Thus the care he took to ensure that they will not conflict with the alcohol Stark is being encouraged to take in such large quantities.

Thus far, they prove successful. Stark came here willingly enough (albeit, pretending that he thought he was going to a hotel). He has drugged himself willingly – Nay, eagerly! – with the alcohol, and generous amounts of sexual contact Loki has offered. -- The next step of this? Will that be as easy? Doom discussed this with his ally just the night before, while they watched the day's footage. Loki insisted then, that Stark would go along it just as he has with everything else, but Doom demurred. He cited the billionaire's sanity, which still remains relatively intact. Watching the video feed now, he wonders if he was not merely trying to give logic to an impulse that is only in his own mind. Perhaps it is not so much that Stark _will_ resist, as that he himself hopes he will? Perhaps he, Dr. Doom, supposedly impervious to any sight, seen in the pursuit of a chosen plan, is not as strong as he thought himself. Perhaps he does not want to see what will happen if Stark doesn't resist...

Onscreen, the room is dark. Doom has turned the resolution as high as it goes, on the television, but there is only so much one can do to create visibility under the circumstances. He must strain to catch sight of what is happening. – At that, he not sure whether he actually wants to see. –

There is a movement in the darkness. Something... _Someone_ , more accurately, is moving on the bed. Who? Stark? Loki? Then a voice answers the question.

“Wha?” Stark's voice, slurred with sleep and residual alcohol. “Loki? L-Loki, what're you doing? I... You...”

What _is_ he doing? Impossible to make out. His hands move. There is a flash of white. Is it what it looks like?

The Trickster's voice: “Shhh, shhh, shhh. Go back to sleep, Tony.”

Loki is still there with him. Doom knew he was planning to be, tonight. He knew tonight would be the right one because of the other drug Loki administered ...that Doom had halfway hoped he would not dare administer.

Stark's voice: “You're not... Loki, you're not doing what it feels like? I...” He struggles to a sitting position. “My god Loki, you wouldn't... I didn't... Oh Loki, I am so _sorry_!”

“Lie still.” An arm, more heard than seen, moves to press the billionaire back against his pillow. “Don't move Tony. This will be over in a minute.”

“I heard that it could happen.” Disjointed murmurings from Stark. “It never happened to me before. I shouldn't have drank so much... You shouldn't have let me.”

“Pfft, with everything that's happened to you?” A moment of better visibility. Doom sees more than he ever wanted to see of what's happening: The soiled pajamas, the mound of used wipes, still growing larger. ...The adult diaper. “You deserve the relief. – Lie _still_! There, you got some on me. Do as I tell you, Sta... Tony.”

That was a slip that could have after-effects. Doom wonders – He can't help halfway hoping. – if it will derail the process being played out in front of him. 

But it does not. “I did? Oh my god, Loki, I am so _sorry_!” Stark lies still. He remains still as Loki finishes what he is doing, and the diaper is applied. Then, only then, does he offer weak demur. “A _diaper_?”

“Shhh.” Caressing voice of the Trickster, joined by his caressing hands, barely-visible to the watcher in the throne. “These things happen Tony, they happen to everyone. It's just in case. – You know, so I won't have to wake you again. Can you sleep, do you think?”

_Let him get up..._ Doom has never hoped failure on an ally before. – He has never hoped failure, except when it was in his own interests, and then he has taken the steps that would make it happen. – He has no reason for wanting Loki to fail at this, to lose the vengeance that he deserves so much, after the way Stark and the others treated him, and yet he does... – He doesn't. He can't, he won't; it goes against everything Dr. Doom has stood for all his life, to wish _less_ harm on any who deserve harm. This isn't even the worst thing Loki could have done to him. Doom would willingly have provided the Doom-bots for a quick killing. And yet, his mind says it: _Let him get up and leave. Now. Let this whole thing be at an end._

Onscreen, it is no surprise when he does not get up. “I ...I dunno, Loki. I'm _awake_ now.”

“Here.” A click, and the sound of pouring. The half-visible hand of the Trickster, shoves a glass into Stark's hand.

Sulky, pouting voice: “Drink with me.” There is the noise of more Scotch being poured.

Stark empties his glass in a practiced movement. Unbidden, he reaches for the bottle and pours more. Then when he snuggles back against the pillows, “You'll stay with me, Loki?” he says. “You'll stay until morning?”

And the soft voice of his tormentor murmurs, “Of course.”


	5. The Gradual Infantilization of a Billionaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no other word but awe, that describes Doom's reaction, as he sees the effectiveness of his ally's persuasion.

Infernal, inescapable logic: Each new acquiescence enmeshes the billionaire further. Each one makes the next more difficult to refuse. Doom watches alone most times, now. Loki is very busy, caring for his charge and victim. He is alone when he views the diaper being rejected in the morning, and when he watches the inevitable disaster that follows around midday. 

The bedclothes soiled, Stark's voice, shamed-sounding: “Oh my god Loki, I can't believe I did that. I'm not _that_ drunk?”

He is. Although that wouldn't have been enough, without the medication.

“Oh my god, you'll explain to the hotel staff for me, won't you?”

“They'll make no trouble, I am sure.”

“I'll pay. There's some money in my wallet. You give them some, okay?” Stark's voice a mumble, his face turned, away from Loki as well as from the camera. “I ...I'd better get cleaned up. ...A shower.”

Loki's hands are on him. They are gentle-looking hands, caressing hands. Even knowing that he has engineered the whole thing, Doom is drawn into the pretense. “Let me help.”

The door to the bathroom remains open, but the angle is wrong for the camera to catch what is happening. Doom hears water fill the bathtub. There is a splash, that is the billionaire entering it. Loki's voice in the background, is a pleased, maternal hum.

“...Can clean myself. ...Not a baby.”

Onscreen now, Doom-bots, pull soiled sheets from the bed, and lay down fresh ones. There is a _crib_ that Loki has had prepared, but for now, they do not bring it in. 

From the bathroom, the Trickster's voice: “What is wrong with being a baby for once? Babies are _cared for_. Wouldn't you like being cared for, Tony?” Small sounds of splashing follow. “Here's the soap. Open your legs, Tony...”

“Oh, guh! That sounds wrong.” -- It does, Doom thinks listening, it does indeed. – Stark's voice: “Look at me, I'm all limp. I should be hard, with you touching me like that.”

More small splashes. “Babies don't get hard.”

And from Stark, “Will you stop calling me that? – Not so loud, the maid will hear.” Then finally, “Okay, I'll be your baby Loki, but just for today.”

On camera, the Doom-bots turn down the covers. They place, carefully, a mint in the center of each fluffed pillow. Less conspicuously, on Loki's bedside table, they also leave the bottle, and the can of formula that he will need later.

“Look at that!” Loki's voice. “It's all down your _legs_.”

“Not so loud, Loki, dammit! If it were your privacy... I'd respect you.” –

Doom can only imagine what his ally would say about that. There wasn't much _respect_ shown when The Avengers had Loki in their power. –

“She is a serving woman.” How soothingly, the Trickster speaks, and how plausible he sounds. “She is paid to serve. We will leave her money. What do you call it here? A tip?”

“Yeah.” Stark's voice. “That's right. – Oh my god, look at the water, it's all _brown_.”

The soothing Trickster. “We'll run more. Just sit still, Baby. – Have you thought, Tony... A stomach virus?”

Stark's response, when it comes, is huge with relief. “Of course, that's got to be it!”

“It's a good thing I'm here,” Loki says. “I'll take care of you.”

There is no reason to watch this, no reason at all. Doom adds nothing to the scenario, and he has no great desire to see other peoples' enemies tortured. He leaves, oh yes, he leaves, to find work that needs doing, anything that will distract him from what is happening. But all too soon, he cannot help returning.

Onscreen, Loki helps a naked Stark to the bed. “Lie down right here.”

There he is on the clean, white sheets. The diaper is close-by. Loki is impossibly maternal: “First some powder.”

“No. Oh, uggh, _no_!”

“Shhh. Bodily wastes cause chafing. – Just until you're better, Tony.”

Up go the billionaire's legs; a cloud of white mercifully obscures the details of his buttocks and private parts. Then the sound of tape ripping, as the diaper is applied.

Stark's shamed moan: “Oh my god, I need a _drink_!”

And Loki's murmur: “Of course you do. Can you sit up, do you think?”

“I dunno. I feel weak.”

“Here, let me help you.” He didn't put the Scotch in the baby bottle. That would have been perhaps, too bizarrely strange even for this very bizarre scenario. Onscreen, Loki helps the billionaire to sit up. He holds the glass to his lips, watches while he drinks, then pours more when he asks it.

“Lie down now, Baby.” Stark's face against the white pillows is disoriented, and hugely, miserably shamed.

“Now...” Loki, Doom sees, has the bottle prepared. “You need some nourishment.”

“Not...” Stark licks his lips. “Not hungry...”

“Pfft, your body needs something. Or else you'll be sick all the longer.”

The reach of a Trickster-arm to his bedside table. The bottle comes into view.

“A _bottle_?” Even as Stark protests, Doom can see the acceptance spread across his face. “No one,” the billionaire says very fervently, “no one can ever know about this, Loki!”

“Of course!” Some people are fools who trust liars, others ...can be helped along to doing so.

Stark's head, cradled on Loki's lap. Loki's arm, angled so the bottle goes in comfortably. The noise of Stark's sucking is small and rhythmic. It is a contented noise. Slowly, his eyes flutter shut.

Just for a moment, Loki looks directly at the camera. “Should I _burp_ him do you think, Victor?” Then with a soft laugh, he shakes his head. “No, that can wait. He looks so peaceful, don't you think?” One slim hand trails a gentle caress across the billionaire's slack cheek. Then Loki looks back at the camera, and his smile is diabolical.


	6. Conversation Between Co-Conspirators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot has been done in the past three days, a lot to the sanity of Mr. Tony Stark, and a lot as well, to the breadth of Doom's knowledge about the God of Chaos. Now very quickly, comes the climax of this revenge.

“Three days.” 

Loki comes downstairs. – How long has it been since he was downstairs? A day or more? Has he _not been_ downstairs, or is it that Doom has not _seen_ him when he was downstairs? -- ...He comes downstairs, at any rate, and he is his usual cool, elegant self. He is the Trickster, fully realized, the tidy, self-contained gentleman from the Stuttgart video, with every hair in place, and his face expressionless, right up to the moment when he knocked the guard to the ground.

He looks up now, inquiringly, at Doom's words. “Three, you say?”

“Since you brought Stark here.” -- A Doom-bot has just brought his dinner. The roast chicken and spiced goulash are on the table, as yet, untouched. Now before Doom can serve himself, Loki has gravitated to them, and cuts away most of the breast of the chicken for himself. – “He's been here three days.”

His mouth full, Loki looks at him. “And?” He takes the wine bottle, fills the glass by Doom's place, then drinks it empty. “Do you tire of giving him house room?”

He tires of watching, Doom thinks, and of thinking about what goes on up there. The images have only grown more scarifying in the past day, and yet he cannot bear _not_ to watch, as though someone must bear witness to what is happening. Certainly Stark is in no condition right now, to do it himself. How Loki would laugh if he said that, though, and how rapidly would he reject the thought of alliance with one so weak. Instead, harsh-voiced: “It must be nearly time for the next step of the plan,” Doom says.

Casual voice of the Trickster: “Must it?” With complete indifference, he pulls apart the loaf provided for Doom's dinner, eating in big, hungry bites. He tears a leg from the chicken and eats it to the bone, washing it down with another glass of wine. When he looks at Doom again, he is smiling. “You grow impatient, Victor. Can I still count on you for help with this? There are others, I am sure, who would be happy to assist me with the rest of my revenge.”

“An idle threat.” Doom serves himself from what is left of his dinner. “No one else has the resources I have.” He eats, or feigns to eat, his attention focused on the Trickster. 

“I came to you first.” Loki takes a peach from the dish on the table. Gently, he turns it in his hands, as if admiring the soft, warm sheen of it. Then, Doom's dessert knife in-hand, he halves it in one sharp movement. “I have not yet fully researched.”

“I want to know what is happening.” Doom's voice, raised slightly in interruption. “As you well know, my standard security will need to be offline, when the woman arrives.”

“Hmm, the lovely Pepper.” Loki's caressing voice. Casually, he slides a hand into his pocket, and pulls out Stark's phone. “I wonder...” He presses a button. Then, brightly, “Oh look how well it holds a charge.” A laugh. “I will have to congratulate Stark on his _tech_.”

“Oh yes.” Doom manages a laugh as well. “He will be receptive I'm sure.”

“Not now.” Loki activates the Unlock function on the phone. “Later,” he says, “after this is over. It may be some compensation... – Oh look.” The phone in his slim white hand, turned now, so Doom can see the messages, crammed from top to bottom, across the screen. “See how _worried_ she's been? Let's read.” It turns again, in Loki's hand. It is the Trickster reading it now, the cool sculpture of his profile as perfect as ever, unmarred by the horror of what he has been doing with Stark.

“Oh, she's spoken to his friends. Hmm, Clint Barton, Director Fury... – Ha, apparently it's the super soldier who commands The Avengers these days. How interesting.” A laugh, the amusement seemingly genuine. “Did you know that, Victor?”

“Of course I did, I make a point of knowing these things.”

“Well they're coming.” Small clicking sound, as he shuts the phone off again. Another faint buzz, as he turns it completely off. Loki looks at Doom. “You'll repel them of course?”

“The first time.” – He is perfection, chiseled as of marble, and as beautiful now as he has ever been... Doom is not troubled by much, he prides himself upon not being, but this troubles him, that his ally should commit such horrors, and be so unscathed by them. And while he recognizes this in himself, comes at once the corollary-reaction: This being must be an ally of his. If such control exists, let it be to his advantage. ...Let it not, at least, be used against him. – “As we planned, Loki. The first time, we repel them. The second time... – You will have Stark ready?”

Loki laughs. “He is nearly ready now. My poor, Baby Tony! He played with the water, when I gave him his bath this evening, Victor. Tomorrow, we will play with other things. – This will have to be orchestrated, remember.”

“Carefully orchestrated, yes. No water, mind, while you've got the bluetooth on.”

“My sweet, protective Victor.” His touch, subtly intolerable after what Doom has seen, his endearments the more so; they are the same ones he uses for Stark. The armor remains impassive though, as it was designed to be, under this, as under any other assault. “You are afraid I will be hurt?”

Doom manages a snort. “I am afraid your 'baby' will be electrocuted before he fully realizes his situation.”

“Don't be.” Loki turns away. “This is my plan. I would not jeopardize it. I will wear your 'bluetooth'. I will engage my 'baby' in play. The woman will come in to find us so, and Stark...” A laugh. “He will find there are other things besides rape that can scar a man.”


	7. Perimeter Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doom's security will need to be restructured, if a few highly-armed intruders can enter so easily. Now that they are in however, he only hope his ally will make the scene upstairs as _damaging_ as possible.

When the rescuers come the first time, it is sudden, and the results of it are quite what Doom expected: 

Onscreen-images hold Doom's attention sheerly by the disturbing nature of them. He watches, unconscious of the time, half unwilling to see such things, but not wanting to turn away. The crib is in the room now. Loki has slid the side down, and Baby Tony sits on the edge.

“Take the diaper _off_?” he says. “Loki, are you sure?”

“Shh, shh, shh.” Loki's very words are a caress. Gently, he strokes Stark's unshaven face, and the smile he turns on him is warm, a mother's smile. “It's time. You don't want to wear that thing forever?”

Troubled, miserable look on Stark's face. “But this morning... An accident... – You showed me, remember?”

To one side, and fully visible, the used diaper still rests. It is open, and brown smears can be seen. Loki glances at it. “You mortals are so sensitive about these things.” A fond, parental laugh. “I'll get this thing out of here, Tony, if it bothers you so.” He turns. For a moment onscreen, it is his back that one sees. Then when he turns back, the dirtied garment is gone.”

“Uggh.” Stark shudders. “I can still _smell_ it.”

Loki's voice is tender. “You've been sick.”

A nod from Stark. “I think I still am ...kind of...” He looks at the Trickster and his face is terribly trusting. Even despising him Doom hates seeing another man wear such a look. “What do you think?”

“I think if you get more comfortable with this, it will be easier.”

“Comfortable...” Stark wears something too much like a pout.

The clinical word for this is Stockholm Syndrome, after a hostage situation that took place a generation ago. Then as now, the damage was done in just a few days and, once done, it was lifelong. Doom wonders now, as he watches, if Stark is going to be Loki's plaything for the rest of his miserable life.

“Watch me go first....”

He isn't going to... But onscreen he does. “Here,” he says. “I want you to see it properly.” The sound of garments unzipped... No, he thinks, Doom will not watch this. Whatever Stark may be feeling right now, himself, he will not _watch Loki go_.

Thus, he misses the next several minutes of the camera feed and, when he returns, it is to see Stark himself poised, naked and squatting, over a white sheet.

“Here?” Doubt in terrible mixture with trepidation and something hideously like hope, fill Stark's voice.

“Plastic sheet... You need to relearn how to use the muscles...”

No. Not this either. No man should bear witness...

The sound of the alert is almost a relief. Dimly for some time, he has been hearing it, the blare of the entrance-alarms, muted this deep inside the Embassy. At first, he disregarded it, there are many alarms, and his Doom-bots are set to response-mode as they should be. This one though, this one is closer. Someone has breached the perimeter.

A last, quick glance at the television: The image is blurred, mercifully. Doom does not see what he thinks he sees. Those are not Stark's naked buttocks; that is not his voice, calling Loki “Mama.” 

“Keep trying,” comes the Trickster's voice. “Mama's got a treat for Baby if...”

From the outer throne room now, he hears the voice of his personal 'bot: “By what right do you violate Latverian sovereignty?”

He will be rising, about now, as he was programmed to do. He has fooled people more intelligent than these, whoever they are.

“It's a robot.” From much research, Doom identifies the voice as belonging to Colonel James Rhodes, of the United States Air Force. It behooves a man to be knowledgeable about his enemies and, of course, with Stark here, there is added risk from his friends. “The file on Doom says he deploys 'em when he thinks he'll take damage.”

“So he's scared?” A woman's voice. Virginia, “Pepper” Potts. Erstwhile CEO of Stark Enterprises, before it was subsumed as part of Doom International. She has spent her time since then, primarily in worrying about Stark, if the texts on his phone are any indication. “Good,” she says. “I want him to be scared.”

“Is he here?” Another male voice; this one, Doom cannot identify. “Might be easier if he's not, do ya think?”

The woman again: “I don't care if he's... – Jim, behind you!”

Confused murmuring as of Doom-bots approaching: “None may pass, none may pass...” The sound of a blast interrupts. The War Machine suit is still in action, whatever may have happened to Stark's own Iron Man arsenal.

Then Colonel Rhodes' voice: “Watch it Cap, on your right!”

“Get behind me,” comes the voice of Steven Rogers, AKA Captain America. “Miss Potts, I don't want you...”

“Don't worry about me,” says the redoubtable Ms. Potts. “Jim, if he's here, let's find him. It'll save us time finding Tony.”

Comes now the dilemma: To move, or not to move? He has no reason certainly, to care whether Ms. Potts and her so-willing cohorts should find him; he is more than amply protected already, by international law. And to be sure, his presence here will be a delay, that will buy Loki precious time to accomplish all he can before they reach him. A disappointment though, to see his perimeter breached, and so easily. Doom will have to take measures to ensure it does not happen again. For now though, enough to press the button, shutting off the television, before his “guests” arrive.


	8. And the Inevitable Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure delight from the Trickster, as his plan reaches its inevitable conclusion. Doom's feelings, however, are more mixed.

Creak-creak and stomp-stomp, of Justin Hammer's best technology, welded willy-nilly to one of Stark's _earlier_ creations, as the War Machine enters the room. “You can't think we don't know he's here?”

Upstairs, what? Doom saw what he saw. What has happened since then? What would he like to have happen? He rises; there is a lady present, after all, not that the good Ms. Potts seems to presume much, upon gender. “You shouldn't thin your lips like that when you frown,” Doom addresses her, nonetheless, instead of the others. “It _ages_ you.”

“Funny.” She is executive through and through. She makes the decisions, says what needs to be said. What will she say when she sees what Loki has made of her boyfriend? “Where is he?”

“He?” What happens while he delays? How much more, really, can happen, in what Loki is doing?

“Tony.” Forward comes a lumpish figure, dimly remembered from Stark's file, as his bodyguard. He was named after an _emotion_ , wasn't he? ...Or was that a nickname? “Where's Tony?”

Doom toys with the idea of keeping them here, of slowing their arrival upstairs down a little longer. What though, what really is the point? They are here; given enough time, they will find Stark regardless. The only variable is the number of Doom-bots to be destroyed in the process. By acquiescing now, he keeps the number at zero. Besides, there was a plan for this. He is merely moving it forward a day or two.

“You are too much for this old man. – Nothing is “too much” for Dr. Doom. Nothing ever has been ...except, possibly, for Loki. – “Really, you have quite overwhelmed me. I fear I shall faint.”

A roll of eyes from Captain America, Ms. Potts meanwhile, primming her lips some more. “Where?”

Doom points toward the staircase. “Up there. Find him for yourself.” 

Thump-thump and thud-thud, of their feet on the stairs as they run to their friend... Quietly, and at a distance, Doom follows. Some meetings are not properly glimpsed except face-to-face. Stark's room is two flights up. Doom reaches it, just as Colonel Rhodes blows the door open. --

Stupid. He probably did not even try the knob first. It would have been unlocked. No point in locking it, when Stark has shown no interest in leaving. –

Inside, a commotion. “What?” Loki's voice. “Intruders?”

Stark's voice, sounding dazed: “I... I don't know... – Mama!”

With a bang, the door swings open, hard enough to hit the wall. Inside, Stark and Loki fly apart. It is the woman who enters first. – Doom watches the scene from between Captain America's and the Colonel's shoulders. – “What...” He hears her voice change. “T-Tony?”

It is later, as he talks about it with Loki, that he finds out the full impact of the scene: “The, ah, shall I say the _waste_ was still there.” Loki is a column of clean, ivory perfection. Impossible to associate him with _waste_ , or contamination of any kind. His smile is cool, but pleased withall. “Baby made a boom-boom.” A soft laugh of pleasure bubbles from Trickster-lips. “That's what he called it. As in, 'Mama, look, I made a boom-boom.' It was on the sheet, when the woman came in.”

“She saw?” Doom knows that she saw; he was there when she saw. But he would not deny his ally the pleasure of telling it.

“Oh yes, of course. It was him she saw first, though. Then he looked up and he saw her.” Another laugh, louder this time, and more animated. “Then the other three oafs saw as well. – Here, Victor, watch.” Up comes a Trickster-hand. He presses Rewind again, and again Doom watches the figures onscreen move backward. This is the part Loki loves the best. – “There, look.”

The camera has caught it well. Onscreen, Doom sees Stark's head turn toward the door. He sees the stricken expression start, then spread across his face.

“Pepper? I... – Rhodey? _Capsicle_?!?” The rapid rise and fall of his chest. The quick glance he gives, down and backward, as if to understand what it is his friends see. Then the look of pure horror that spreads across his face.

“It isn't ...Pepper, it isn't...” The words start and stumble, before the billionaire falls silent, and the friends move forward.

Loki's voice: “I hear he's still hospitalized. It's been over a month now, hasn't it?”

The carafe of wine at his elbow: A cool drink refreshes, on these American summer afternoons. Doom pours for both of them. “Two months,” he says. “It's been close to two months.”

A pleased nod from his ally. “How long do your kind usually take to recover from these things?”

Doom sips, the Latverian vintage pleasingly tart on his palate, its promise of oblivion subtly tempting, as it has been, increasingly, since his alliance with Loki. “As to that, I am no expert. – There haven't been many humans driven mad by the God of Chaos, have there?”

“A few.” Loki sips his wine. “Over the centuries.” He smiles at Doom over the rim of his glass. “You have been very helpful so far, Victor. What reward would you like?”

Subtle discomfort, looking into those sparkling green eyes above the wineglass: In spite of himself, he cannot keep away the image of Stark's brown eyes, and the look he saw in them, right at the end. “As to that, Loki, I made my choice, remember? One small bit of your power...”

Another nod, bored looking. “When I get it back, yes,” Loki finishes the sentence for him. “Nothing now, Victor?” His voice lilts, grows teasing. “I know you admire me. Haven't you thought about what we could do together?”

Doom has thought. He has thought about many things. “You do not like to be touched.”

He does not like to be touched and, too, Doom's body is ruined, seamed and patched all over, with scar tissue and metal. Loki knows it; Doom watches as the thought of it crosses his face. Then at once, his expression changes, grows hard. “I could steel myself.”

As he did with Stark, yes, he could steel himself indeed. Dreadful, to think about the billionaire again. Dreadful to think of Loki “steeling himself”, of those white hands of his, that have touched Stark, touching Doom next.

“No, Loki,” Doom says. “I am content with the reward I requested.”


End file.
